The Man Who Needs It Does Not Know It
by morgana006
Summary: Riddler is hired to investigate Bruce Wayne, and doesn't like what he discovers, or what he realizes he's forgotten.
1. The Man Who Bought It

Eddie would have thought he was going crazy, if he hadn't known that had long since happened already.

Edward Nigma opened his desk drawer and pulled out a short pair of scissors (purple) and a case of plastic-tipped pins (green). He pulled the sheet of newspaper from the rest and started cutting out the article.

It was a very strange feeling he had lately, like he was missing something. He had taken to printing out, cutting out, and making notes of certain things during his investigations – not about the investigations themselves, though he did that as well, but about anything that gave him that _feeling_. It wasn't déjà vu – that was when something unfamiliar seemed familiar. No, it was something else. It almost felt like he was trying to remember a dream; when you get constantly reminded of something from the dream, but can't remember for the life of you what happened in it.

Eddie finished cutting the article, and absentmindedly smoothed it out. Once. Twice. Three times the charm. He grabbed two pins from the case, and pinned the article to the board, the big one, just behind the door in his office. He had to put it there, where his clients were less likely to notice it. It unsettled them.

After all, Eddie Nigma is – was the Riddler, and the Riddler fought – used to fight – Batman, and a board covered with articles, pictures, blog posts and accounts of Batman wasn't something his clients wanted to see.

It wasn't entirely about Batman, of course. The other residents of Arkham (Other? He was no longer one of them, remember?), other Bats, and a whole slew of famous Gotham residents.

It was in this last area of the board where he pinned the newest article.

"**Bruce Wayne Pledges Millions to Gotham Charities**"

He stared at the article on the board, occasionally glancing from it to the other pictures and notes. He knew there had to be a connection. He could _almost_ see it, but his mind almost seemed to skitter from the answer, and it frustrated him more than anybody could know.

All riddles have answers, or else they're pointless.

(Eddie, why do you have to think about it that way?)

All _mysteries_ have an explanation.

(Better, if unsatisfying.)

He turned from the board and paced his office. He hated this. He hated this feeling of not knowing something, of not knowing how to figure something out, or worse – what he suspected was the truth – was that he had known the answers, but had forgotten them.

Something was keeping him from remembering.

Something was stopping him from solving the rid- the mystery.

He wasn't dumb. He was more intelligent than most people. People sometimes scoffed at him, at the riddles. "It just makes the Bat catch you faster!"

They didn't _get_ it. That wasn't the **point**.

(Stop that. That's history. You're a detective now, stop thinking of the good old days.)

There was a knock at the door. He ignored it. Another knock now, louder, impatient, but not desperate. A client, and not one that was not nervous, just entitled. Money.

Eddie grabbed his cane before opening the door. He forced his face into a smile; he didn't want to make the client uncomfortable if he let his dislike show.

"My apologies, sir, I was in the midst of the art of deduction, and lost well into my mind. Would you like take a seat?"

The man was exactly as he expected. Old, white, with a very expensive suit and a very self-important huffy expression.

The man scowled at him. "You're the Riddler? The private detective?"

Oh for – he was wearing the hat! With the question mark emblazoned on it and everything! He had the cane and the suit and the – enough. Keep smiling. (Don't think about stuffing him in a room with nothing but a bomb on a timer with a clue.)

"Correct! I am Edward Nigma."

The man brushed past him and sat in the chair. Eddie walked around his desk, sitting down and tossing the cut-up newspaper in the nearby recycling.

"I heard you can get the job done, despite your record," the man said.

Riddler couldn't help but sneer at the man. "I can get the job done because of my record. But no matter – what do you need help with?"

The man stared at him. For a moment Riddler was afraid he'd sucked up to the man for nothing, and he would walk off with the money and more importantly the job.

"I need you to find something on Bruce Wayne."

Eddie didn't answer at first. He looked the man over again. He glanced at his board. He recognized the man.

"You're on the board of Wayne Enterprises, yes?"

The man was surprised, but tried to hide it and shifted in his seat. "Right. I'm Grant Gideon."

Eddie smiled. "And what seems to be your problem with Mr. Wayne?"

The man leaned back on his chair and looked away from Eddie. "He's wasting money on revitalization projects and charities. He's had a sudden and unconvincing 'change of heart' and he's acting strange. It's very suspicious."

"It seems you already know what's wrong with Mr. Wayne. Why do you need me?"

Eddie knew what the man was going to say.

"I need proof."

And he was right. "That's all very well and good, Mr. Gideon, but what do you expect me to find?"

Gideon shrugged. "Drugs, pressure from the mob, I don't know – something to make him stop this foolishness. He's making the company look bad."

Eddie looked at the ceiling, purposely stretching the silence as he pretended to think.

Gideon huffed. "I'll pay half your fee up front, and add in a _very_ generous tip depending on what you find."

Bingo.

"Sounds like we have a deal, Mr. Gideon."

The man immediately stood up. "One more thing – I would prefer not to be linked to your investigation."

Eddie stood up too. "I will be discrete, Mr. Gideon, don't you worry."


	2. The Man Who Needs It

It had been three days. Eddie was now sure of a few things.

First he realized that his client was not just a paranoid rich boy who deserved a few bills taken from his pocket, but actually was right – there was something wrong with Bruce Wayne. Eddie's intuition told him that Mr. Wayne was different, and further research revealed supported his intuition. Eddie didn't have access to Wayne's financials, but there were several charitable organizations and things under his name and that he paid money for. Many of them were smarter and had more return than the sorts of things Wayne was putting his money into now.

It wasn't that Bruce Wayne wasn't trying to help people before, but he was more subtle about it. The new "change of heart" Bruce Wayne was making a big deal about it.

The next thing he realized was that Wayne was never alone. This too was different from before. Wayne had a bodyguard for a short time before (Sasha… Bordeaux? Was that her name? What happened to her? Should investigate further), but now he always seemed to have some sort of toady. Toadies that the secretaries didn't recognize and weren't on Wayne Enterprise's payroll.

That was certainly suspicious. After watching them for a while, Eddie noticed Wayne seemed rather cold to them all. Perhaps Gideon had been right about the mob? No, Wayne pretended to be a useless playboy (wait, pretended to be? What rational explanation did that thought have?), but he seemed to be very straight-laced, even if he did seem a bit too willing to get people out on parole, including a certain Riddler.

All that led to this – a risk he was hesitant to make. Not because he had something against breaking into Wayne's office, but he didn't want to jeopardize the pay check by being… non-discrete.

Still, if he could figure out the gap in Wayne's financials, see his private files… he might have a lead to go on.

So Eddie Nigma had broken into Wayne's office quite effortlessly, and picked the locks (surprisingly difficult), and was now rifling through Wayne's files.

The nagging feeling that he was missing something, that there was something he should be remembering pressed at his mind. It was very distracting.

Wait, were those footsteps? Dammit. Eddie froze and listened carefully. He could hear the murmur of voices as well. Three people? No, two people.

Eddie hurriedly stuffed the files back in and closed the case. Act innocent, act natural, act sane.

The door opened and Bruce Wayne and one of his toadies entered.

Bruce spotted Riddler leaning on his desk and sneered. Eddie tried not to bristle at his expression.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne. I thought I had an appointment?"

The clinger-on, an Asian woman with thick dark hair in a crisp grey pantsuit frowned at him. For a second, Eddie thought she was reaching for a weapon. Perhaps they _were_ bodyguards?

Wayne put on a very fake smile, ridding his face of the sneer. Odd, Eddie was sure that Wayne's fake smiles were more convincing than that (there! Where did that come from?).

"I don't think so, Riddler. Anyway, it seems a little bit late for an appointment?"

Eddie pulled out a blank paper from his paper and pretended to consult it. "Oh, it appears I made a mistake. Nine thirty _am_, not pm. I'll be going then, get out of your hair."

As he tried to walk by, Bruce grabbed his arm. "I hope you found what you were looking for, because you won't get into my office again."

Eddie gently, okay, _almost_ gently pulled his arm away, giving him no answer but a smug smile. Of course, he didn't find anything in the office, but Wayne didn't know that, and it was fun to see Wayne's look of contempt.

All in all, Eddie was surprised that Wayne hadn't done anything. If he had something to hide, he would have reacted much differently. Check somewhere else, then. Wayne Manor?

Wait, hadn't he read something about that?

Eddie had reached the elevator down the hall and pressed the button. He glanced back over his shoulder. Good, they weren't looking back at him. Out of sight, out of mind. Now, where was he?

Yes, Wayne Manor. What was it about Wayne Manor he had read?

Bruce Wayne had left, moved out into the old Elliot house.

That was strange. Thomas Elliot had hated Bruce Wayne. Why?

Because Thomas Elliot was Hush. Hush hated _Batman_, why did he hate Bruce Wayne?

No that wasn't right. Something was off, something was _wrong_.

He was missing something.

The elevator doors opened.

Something, something, something.

Thomas Elliot was Hush.

Fact.

Hush hated Batman.

Fact.

Thomas Elliot hated Bruce Wayne.

Fact.

Hush hated Batman **because** Elliot hated Bruce Wayne.

Something.

Why?

Because

Because

What time is it when an elephant sits on your fence?

The elevator doors closed.

Because Batman was Bruce Wayne.


End file.
